


The Art of Gift-Giving

by rowankhanna



Series: Newt and Credence at Christmas [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Buying each other presents, Christmas, Cute, Fluff, Fluffy, Gift Giving, M/M, Presents, Trying to buy the right present, festive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowankhanna/pseuds/rowankhanna
Summary: In which Newt and Credence find the right presents for each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't proofed this because I wrote it in my free time on Christmas and wanted to put it up on Christmas! I have a lot of family tension at Christmas, so it's nice to write about a Christmas where there's none of that tension, and just pure fluff. I love me some fluff.

Being in a tailor’s is a new experience entirely for Credence, whose clothes come as hand-me-downs and never really fit him at all, and the blustery-haired tailor glances up at him from behind his desk, where he delicately pencils on his neatly-scratched diagrams. “Hello,” he says politely, looking at Credence as if he were a stain. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, I’m looking to get a Christmas present for my friend. Better-fitting trousers.” He passes a bag over containing a pair of Newt’s trousers. He can’t help but notice that the trousers are always too short for him, eternally rolled up and scraping the top of his calf-high boots, and Credence has spent his working life (currently six months) saving up for this present. It’s not like he can think of things for himself to buy: him and Newt share their possessions between them, working in perfect synchronicity, a matching pair. Newt wakes up first, always, never seeming to need that much sleep at all, and gets Credence up for work, and he heads off for the Ministry the same time that Credence goes along to Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, and he always gets back first and cooks, having taken to cooking like a duck to water. He’s not as efficient as Newt, of course – his magic is weak and rudimentary, and he still occasionally backfires spells like a first year Hogwarts student – but he enjoys it and cooks well, apparently. It takes his mind off of things, and dinner is usually ready roughly half an hour after Newt arrives home. He uses what’s in Newt’s kitchen, sleeps in Newt’s guest bedroom, wears Newt’s clothes and those that Newt buys for him. So instead of buying himself anything, he’s saved his money for Newt.

“So these are his?” the tailor asks, examining them and making a face. “These have been in use for a while, I see. They’re starting to come apart at the seams – you see, here.” He points to a part of the leg starting to look patchy.

“Um, I would like another pair made, but they need to be longer. These are too short for him. And he’s a zoologist, so they need to really last.” Credence looks at the tailor, whose eyes drip heavy with cynicism. “Please. He’s my friend and he’s taken me in and saved my life. I want to thank him somehow.”

The tailor’s face softens at the story and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “How much will we need to lengthen these? About an inch?” He fetches measuring tape and demonstrates to Credence, who selects a length that he’s sure would be the right fit for Newt. The tailor gives him a card telling him when to come back and smiles at Credence, though with a continually probing gaze.

Credence comes back on the date specified and picks up the trousers. They look incredible, solidly made and bold in colour, making their reference pair look feeble in comparison. Credence sneaks the original pair back into Newt’s drawers before he gets home from work, and he never seems to have noticed their absence, swept up in his own gift ideas.

 

Newt takes Credence to get a wand soon after they resettle into England, and it takes a long while to find the right wand before he settles upon it: dark and messily crafted, splintering, with a phoenix feather core, 9 ¾”. The splintering avoids the grip so that he can easily hold it, and he treasures it: he keeps it in its box by his bedside and usually keeps it in a blazer or waistcoat pocket, and he occasionally finds himself holding it just because he owns it to be able to hold, swept away by its unbelievable presence.

For Christmas, Newt receives a copy of the Hogwarts required reading lists for the first two years (requested kindly from Dumbledore) and, on a weekend where Credence isn’t working, buys up their contents from Flourish and Blotts, painstakingly wrapping them in the hours of the morning before he wakes the boy. He wraps them in old copies of the Daily Prophet, pausing for a moment to stare at an image of Madame Picquery, the events of the previous November jolting his mind. He hopes Credence doesn’t remember her, as she features prominently on almost every single paper, nearly as prominent as the Minister himself. He hopes fervently that Credence will appreciate the books – he’s certainly eaten his way through Newt’s shelves of Dickens, so he reads, at least.

A letter from Tina makes its way to him at the start of December with a neat postscript that reads “If you don’t know what to do for Christmas, you ought to get Credence some gloves to hide his scars”, so when Newt is out one day buying feed, he also buys a pair of black leather gloves for Credence. He smiles as he buys them, hoping that he can help the boy somehow, even if it’s just with a measly purchase.

 

The presents beneath the Christmas tree are in a state of mild disarray, thanks mostly to the Niffler’s tinsel-fuelled chaos, and when Newt gets up on Christmas morning he finally rearranges them, retying ribbons on boxes and setting them out in an orderly fashion. Credence sleeps disjointed hours on holidays, and doesn’t get up til later, to the sight of Newt curled up on the armchair, deep in the middle of his copy of _The Great Gatsby_ , and it takes Credence sitting down to stir him from the pages.

“Oh, sorry, pardon me.” He shuts the book with a puff of dust, laying it on the floor beside his chair. “I have some presents for you – these ones here...” He pulls the large pile of wrapped-up books over to Credence’s feet, and he gapes at the sheer number of books while at the same time passing over the bag (he didn’t even think to wrap them) containing Newt’s new tailored trousers. They open their gifts at the same time, both of them too shy to be under the sole and extremely watchful gaze of the other, and Newt beams from ear to ear while Credence leafs through the books with his thumbs, eyes wide with curiosity. “I take it these trousers may actually fit me?”

“Yes,” Credence says. “So you won’t have to worry about how badly sized they are anymore. Well, you may have to worry about your other pairs, but not these.” He looks at the books. “These seem interesting, but – why?”

“Those are the books that students at Hogwarts, the British wizarding school, read in their first two years. I thought that, if you were to join the wizarding community, you should learn about its history and at least have a cursory knowledge of differing magical subjects. We all have different strengths, after all.” Newt pauses. “I hope you like them.”

“I love them,” says Credence, honesty bared, and he smiles, one of the few smiles that ever passes his lips. Pickett peers up from one of Newt’s pockets, watching with absolute shock the happiness on the usually miserable or impassive boy’s face. “Thank you so much, I – I don’t even know how I can repay you.”

“Repay you? It’s a gift. There’s no repayment here.” Newt leans over and pats Credence’s arm. “If you want to repay me, read the books and learn, though I doubt you need to be told.”

“No,” he says.

“Exactly.” Newt brushes his fingers through Credence’s hair. “And I’m very thankful, too. Trousers that might actually fit. That’s new for me, too.” He laughs. “Thank you, Credence. It was very thoughtful.”

“You too, Newt,” he says, turning one of the books over in his hands, which are clad in his new gloves, which he couldn’t be happier for, always overly aware of the lines that cut his palms.. “Thank you. Very much.” And he means it: he has never been much one for knowing what people wanted, but just knowing in this moment that he’s gotten the right thing is more than anything else in the world, and he can see in Newt’s smile that he feels exactly the same.


End file.
